


Legacy

by thorbiased



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorbiased/pseuds/thorbiased
Summary: The letter was a white stain against his table, staring up at him with cold, unfeeling eyes. Sam only vaguely wondered what it contained, and he was certain that he didn’t care. A few months ago he would’ve opened it, read it and laughed at it. But things were different now. He’d been through too much, lost too much.Sam weighs the decision of becoming the next Captain America.





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> Plz comment and leave kudos <3 I hope you enjoy

The letter was a white stain against his table, staring up at him with cold, unfeeling eyes. Sam only vaguely wondered what it contained, and he was certain that he didn’t care. A few months ago he would’ve opened it, read it and laughed at it. But things were different now. He’d been through too much, lost too much.

_S.H.I.E.L.D National Headquarters, Undisclosed Location. Addressed to Samuel Thomas Wilson._

The letters were stamped in black ink, the only thing visible under the plastic window in the envelope. Sam sat his coffee mug beside it, toyed with the corner and the idea of ripping through the heavy card stock and finding out what Shild wanted, then decided against it. He didn’t care what they wanted to say. If it was condolences, then he’d heard enough “I’m sorry for your loss”’s. If it was anything else, then Shield could suck it. 

Heavy footsteps came down the hall, but Sam didn’t turn to look at him. Bucky rummaged around in the kitchen, then stomped over to the table and took a seat beside Sam. His eyes were tired, but they weren’t red, which was an improvement from the norm. Sam forced a polite smile.

“Morning,” he said, tipping his mug towards him.

Bucky didn’t say anything. His metal fingers were wrapped around a bright orange, but he didn’t move to peel it. Sam knew not to push it. He knew what it was like to lose your best friend. It was like loosing the right half of your body and then being forced to try and function again.

Eventually, Bucky would function again, Sam knew. They both would. They would be able to visit downtown Brooklyn to see the memorial or go see the one in DC.They’d be able to wake up and not wonder for two seconds what Steve was making for breakfast. Bucky would be able to look at newspapers again. Sam would be able to go for another run. It would take time, but they would heal.

Until then, Sam would sit at the table and drain his coffee mug and Bucky would eat an orange.

“Sam,” Bucky said, his voice low and hoarse. It was the first he’d spoken in a few days. Two? Maybe three.

Sam turned his head to see Bucky staring hard at the orange, like it was a foreign substance and he was trying to discern whether or not it was dangerous. “Yeah?”

“I don’t remember...” he whispered, “I don’t remember how to peel it.”

Sam let go of his mug and held out his hand. Bucky placed the orange in his palm. “Start at the top. Use your thumb,” he said, showing him. “You gotta be gentle with that vibranium, though, man. You’ll make orange juice.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Bucky’s face. “Thanks, Sam,” he said, taking the fruit back. “I can do it now.”

Sam flicked the bit of rind stuck under his nail away. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had forgotten how to some mundane task. Shuri had fixed his mind control issue, and had vastly improved his memory, but the experience of dying, being left alone in a soul realm with nothing to keep him company than his thoughts, and grief of losing Steve was, well, shorting out his hardware. It hadn’t brought him back to square one, but it had definitely knocked him down a few pegs. The day before, he forgot how to tie his shoes.

Bucky peeled his orange in silence. The peel piled up on the table, then the white strings. He popped a wedge in his mouth, the poked the letter questioningly. “What’s that?” he asked, mouth full of citrus.

Sam picked it up with a long suffering sigh. “It’s from Shield. It came yesterday.”

“You haven’t opened it?” Bucky asked, his face twisted in confusion.

Sam shook his head and flipped the letter over, picking at the flap. His heart was beating harder than it should’ve been. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t want anything to do with them. I’ve lost enough friends. I’m done.”

“I think you should open it,” Bucky said. Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly. “What? It could be something important.”

“You’re right. It could be,” Sam said, lifting his mug to his lips. He swallowed the coffee in his mouth before shrugging. “Still don’t care.”

Bucky held out his flesh hand, and Sam passed the letter over. “I won’t tell you if you don’t want me to,” he said, sliding his thumb under the seal. Sam took a breath. The only sound in the air was the rustling of papers. Bucky’s blue eyes scanned the words, a frown on his lips.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows screwed in concern. He sat up straight and sat his mug down on the table.

Bucky’s eyes shot up to meet Sam’s. “They want you to take Steve’s place,” he said, voice low and slightly wavered.“As Captain America.”

The words his Sam like a bullet to the chest. He was glad he’d sat down his mug, otherwise it would’ve been in pieces in a puddle of black coffee on the floor. “What?”

“Read it,” Bucky ordered, shoving the letter back to his friend. He pushed back from the table, carrying his orange in his hand, heading to the fridge. “God, I hope we’re not out of beer.”

Sam read the letter twice before he started breathing again. There the words were, printed in black ink on white paper and double spaced. 

_I believe it would be a crime to forget Captain Roger’s legacy, and I know that the world still needs its captain. I can think of no one better to fill Steve’s shoes than you, Sam. Think about it._

_Best regards,_

_Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D._

Sam swore loudly and tossed the letter onto the table. He dragged his hands over his face. “Why on God’s green Earth would they ask me?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, knocking back a swig of beer, “but they did.”  

“Great observation,” Sam deadpanned.

“Are you gonna do it?”

Sam swallowed. He read the letter one more time. “You think he’d want me to?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the paper. 

Bucky shut the fridge slowly, his gaze locked on the floor, took another sip of his beer, then sighed. “I don’t think he’d want you to,” he said, and Sam’s heart dropped. Bucky lifted his eyes to meet Sam’s. “I know he would.”

* * *

Nick Fury was a confident, perceptive. He didn’t trust people, but he could read them like a book. He could predict their choices and act on them like the best generals in the army. 

Sam mused over this as he stared at the sleek silver box that sat—where else?—on his kitchen table. He didn’t have to wonder how it got there. Natasha left a note written in her neat handwriting on top. 

_Steve would be proud._

_\- Nat_

Sam gently sat the note aside with a bittersweet smile. He brushed his fingers across the tabs of the box, and that smile faded. His new suit was in that box, redesigned for his wings with a slightly different color scheme. Sam swallowed thickly. He couldn’t help but think of this as replacing Steve instead of honoring him.

The night before he’d had a dream just like this. He was standing at the same table, staring down at the same box, feeling the same dread and confusion. He shut his eyes, trying to remember the details of his dream. 

_Sam wasn’t a crazy person, he swore, but when he looked over his shoulder at his empty kitchenette, Steve was standing there. He was flipping eggs in a pan, wearing a tight blue tee shirt and a towel slung over his shoulder. With mirth in his blue eyes, he looked back at Sam._

_“I back when I was in the army, I swore up and down I’d never eat eggs again,” he said, shaking his head with a huffed laugh, “and here I am.”_

_Sam just stared at him._

_Steve sighed. “I’m not here, Sam,” he said gently, “and putting on that suit is not going to make me go any further away. Besides, I’d be proud to see you be Captain America. I never really wanted it anyway.”_

_“God, I’m not talking to you,” Sam muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose._

_“Why not? Figments of your imagination aren’t worthy of Captain America’s attention?”_

_“I’m not Captain America,” Sam said, louder. “You were. I can’t take your place.”_

_Steve tilted his head. “You’re not taking my place,” he insisted, pointing his spatula at Sam’s chest. “You’re honoring me. What’d you want me to say? You’ve got my blessing.”_

_“You’re not real. You are a projection of my grief—“_

_“I am a projection of what you already know to be true,” Steve said sternly. “Put that suit on, Sam. Be a hero. Don’t forget me.”_

When he’d woken, he’d made a decision. He’d been sure of it, but now...running his hands over that box, he wasn’t so positive. 

“If you don’t open it, I will,” Bucky said. The sound of his footsteps grew louder as he grew closer. “You’ve been staring at that thing for half an hour.” 

“I made a decision, and know I can’t seem to act on it,” Sam said sternly, like he was scolding himself.

“Might as well look at it,” Bucky plopped himself at the table, sitting right across from the container. He tapped his metal finger against its surface. “If you change your mind, you get a cool outfit.”

Sam swore under his breath, then flipped open the box before he could talk himself out of it. 

The suit was a deep red, mirroring his Falcon suit. It was folded so that a silver star on the chest was visible. It came with goggles and boots and fingerless gloves. It came with unspeakable weight.

Sam swallowed thickly as he lifted a printed piece of card stock off the top of the suit. It was from Fury. You made the right choice, Wilson.

Sam breathed out slowly, flattening his palm against the thick fabric of the—his, it was his—suit. His thumb brushed against the star. “Guess that makes me Captain America.”

Bucky clasped his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave him a teary eyed smile. “Guess it does,” he said. He coughed. “You need a partner?”

“Of course,” Sam said. He hadn’t thought Bucky would want to be anywhere near a fight, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone who had his back.

Bucky gave a determined nod, his eyes locked down on the suit. “When do we start?”


End file.
